


Pretty Duckies

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: All’s well that ends well, Ben Solo catches feels, Benjamin is not necessarily the sharpest tool in the tool box, Butler Hux, Dairymaid Rey, Dubious Consent, Duckies is a euphemism for Rey’s tits, Epilogue, F/M, Georgian Period, HEA, Mama Solo gets things done, Marquis Ben, Naughtiness, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, Reylo - Freeform, Valet Mitaka, ah - the course of true love never did run smooth, all kinds of naughtiness, all kinds of period nonsense, but not really, just in case you were wondering, lecherous Ben, though he can be a tool, tiger mom Leia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-23 02:42:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23004463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Just a bit of nonsense swirling in my head for a while.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 53
Kudos: 87





	1. The New Maid

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of nonsense swirling in my head for a while.

He was moodily making his way to the stables when he heard it, a most beautiful voice raised in song. Immediately, his plans for the day abandoned, he followed the wonderous sound and tracked the singer to the dairy.

There she was, amongst the steel and copper pots and pans, slim and dainty and as lovely as a spring morning. He let out an appreciative growl at the sight of the pretty dairymaid and she turned, startled to see him there, the song dying in her throat.

“Never mind me, my pretty,” he spoke in his most winsome manner, “pray, continue and put all these dull songbirds to shame.”

There was a pink flush to her cheeks now, contrasting beautifully with the golden tone of her skin as she stood silent before him. Truly, she was a ray of sunshine made flesh. He advanced on her.

“Well, if those pretty lips won’t pleasure me with song, perhaps they’ll bestow upon me a lovely kiss.”

So speaking he gathered her to him, his arms wrapping themselves about her fragrantly scented body, and pressed his lips to hers. She let out a muffled squawk and would have pulled away except he held her securely.

He prided himself on the efficacy of his kisses, and sure enough, as his lips teased hers, he felt her relax into him. His lips curved themselves in a smile of victory against hers and he let her go, the better to get a look at her.

She staggered back, breathless and scarlet cheeked, and he put out a hand to steady her. Their eyes met and in the hazel depths of hers flashed a brief, wanton look before they narrowed and sparked with ire. Her mob cap was askew, exposing her glossy chestnut curls, though it was her décolletage which was currently exercising his eyes; the panting breaths she was drawing was causing it to heave in a most alluring manner.

“How much, fair maid,” he spoke low and seductively, “how much for sight of those pretty duckies of yours? A silver thruppenny bit, perhaps?” He pulled some coin out of the pocket of his riding coat and began to poke through it, searching for the tiny silver coin.

She was leaning back on the stone counter now, catching her breath and obviously gathering her thoughts going by her next words, “Oh, no, sir, it would take a half guinea to cop a feel of even _one_ of those.”

She spoke as a country maid would, though her voice lacked the real burr typical of the county. Indeed, there was almost a refined tone to her voice, his brain half acknowledged. However, he did not comment on it as he was anxious to make the bargain, the one eyed monster in his breeches twitching impatiently at his laggardly handing over of the small gold coin.

“Damnation and buggery,” he swore, for no matter how assiduously he searched, there was no glint of gold amongst the hoard of silver nestled in his mitt.

She moved forward, clasping his wrist and pulling down his cupped hand to examine what largesse was to be found there. He thrilled to her touch, the coolness of her clasp, the sight of her dainty fingers splayed across his wrist. His buckskin breeches suddenly felt even tighter.

“What have you found there, my pretty, that will satisfy your need?”

She raised her face to his, her pink lips curved in a smile, dimpling adorably.

She spoke, “Oh, I don’t think satisfaction lies in your hand, sir,” she lowered her lashes demurely then raised them with such a saucy look in her hazel eyes his very hand trembled and the beast in his breeches engorged.

She steadied his trembling palm by bringing up her other hand to support it and continued, “Although with your fingers perhaps there is _some_ satisfaction to be got.”

He growled and would have surged forward to prove himself capable of giving satisfaction with _all_ his parts, but she held him off.

“Now, now, sirrah, we are bargaining for a touch of my tit. Hold fast, I say!”

The use of a familiar hunting term caused him to pause in his intention to have her against the dairy wall, so he went for subtlety instead.

“Here, my pretty one, take it all before I come in my pants!” and he poured a torrent of silver into a nearby copper bowl, the sound reverberating around the stone walls of the dairy, and once more took her in his arms.

He was most adept at pulling down her chemise and exposing one perfect breast, its nipple tip-tilted upwards, and sucking on it with his hot mouth - swirling his tongue to make her gasp and pull his hair at the roots. 

He raised his head and looked triumphantly down at her, provoking from her a trill of joyous laughter and felt his own heart leap with gladness at her giddy expression of pleasure, the cares he’d brought with him from London forgotten in an instant.

How it would have ended, who knew? As his lips fastened once more on hers, his hand cupping a breast that was both firm yet yielding, softly kneading it so that she groaned into his mouth, his housekeeper’s voice could be heard calling, “Rey, Rey, have you the butter and cream ready, my dear?”

Thunder and turf!, was a man not able to have an early morning dalliance without interruption these days?

She was pushing him behind the dairy door now, pulling up her chemise and setting her cap to rights. Maz’s slow, shuffling tread could now be heard. 

Rey snatched up a wooden platter, upon which rested a large golden pat of butter, and a large white jug presumably filled with cream, and went to dash out the door, but not before coquettishly sticking out her pink tongue from between kiss reddened lips at him.

He turned and leaned his forehead against the cool stone wall and let out a soft groan.

“Why, child,” he heard Maz’s concerned voice just the other side of the door, “what ails you, so red and breathless as you are? Why, your eyes are quite feverish in their look.”

“Oh, ‘‘tis nothing,” he heard Rey’s breathless answer, “I couldn’t get it to come. The shifts I was put to before it would, I can’t tell you.”

“Ah,” sympathised Maz, “that will do it. I remember as a girl making the plunger go up and down up and down with both hands a whole morning, and still it would not come.” Inside the dairy he bit on his hand to stifle a groan.

The two women were moving off now, Maz reciting an infallible spell to say over the churn to make the milk turn and the butter to come. It was with some relief he heard their footsteps fade and disappear, unbuttoning the flap on the front of his breeches and reaching for a piece of muslin cloth lying helpfully to hand.

When he was once more master of himself, leaving as a fond memento the now sticky muslin cloth beside the copper bowl containing her fortune, he took himself off to the stables and rode off to his attorney in the nearby town to order fifty pounds sterling in guineas and half guineas to be delivered to Skywalker Hall as soon as possible.

He had big plans for the little dairymaid.

As he turned into the avenue leading to the hall, he paused to enquire of the gatekeeper if sight or sound of his mother had been made? To his ineffable relief, no, answered the man, Duchess Leia had not arrived in his absence. Was his lordship expecting his lady mother to visit, begging his lordship’s pardon?

No, he growled, and he expected him to bolt and bar the gate if she did.

He dug his heels into Silencer’s flanks and the big stallion moved swiftly off, leaving the poor man in a cold sweat. The diminutive duchess was a force of nature and he was expected to deny her admittance to the estate inherited from her father? He tottered off to complain to his wife about Her Grace’s unfeeling son.

He was nervous about his mother chasing after him. She had gotten a maggot into her brain about him marrying and leaving his debauched ways. Pfft, as if marriage would stop him chasing pretty girls!

She’d tried it before, but he’d successfully sabotaged her plans by appearing before his intended bride as his authentic, grumpy, lecherous, uncouth self. It had worked, the ‘nice’ females his mother had lined up for him either ran away screaming or assured their mamas death or the veil was more preferable than marriage to him.

About a month ago he _had_ met a female of breeding he thought he could stomach being married to, at a grand masked ball his mother had dragged him to. There had been a most enjoyable fifteen minute dalliance with her in a small anteroom, then his mother had come barging in accompanied by his uncle, a real killer of libido that face with its permanently constipated look.

They’d agreed to unmask, so pleased had they been with each other, his mask already taken off and his thick fingers fumbling with the strings of hers when a scandalised shout of, “Benjamin!”, had rung out throughout the small room. 

True, he _was_ showing how pleased he was with the dainty little morsel pressed against him, but there had been no need to overreact; his uncle glaring so disapprovingly at the young woman so that she blushed and trembled in his arms.

There had been a shouting match then, during which said dainty little morsel had made her escape - they hadn’t yet got around to exchanging names - lost to him forever. He’d stormed out and refused to see his mother, until she’d stormed into his club and raised such a screech he’d _had_ to see her or be black balled and thrown out permanently.

She’d found a female who _wanted_ to marry him, she told him. Indeed, was mad for him. Well, that showed you what sort of female she was, left on the shelf for a very good reason. So he’d run that very minute, intending to go to Italy and remain there until the fubsy-faced creature who wanted to marry him gave him up (unlikely), or his mother gave up her scheme (equally unlikely).

That was before he’d met his little dairymaid. Meeting her changed everything - he just needed to keep one step ahead of his mother.


	2. Chapter 2

He handed Silencer over to the care of a groom and let himself into the hall, discreetly using a side door.

He was trying to avoid the sharp eyes of his mother’s Butler, Armitage Hux. He was sure Hux spied upon him for his mother when he retreated to Skywalker Hall but must endure him as he certainly couldn’t dismiss him - either the ginger would ignore him or go telling tales on him to his mother.

He thought he had made it to the staircase unobserved, but then came that clipped, sneering voice, “Ah, there you are my lord, we have been searching for you.”

He composed his features and prepared to suffer an interrogation.

Turning, he addressed the Butler, “Oh, for what reason?”

Hux answered, but it was obvious his gaze was distracted by his lordship’s neck, “Mitaka, has arrived, my lord, and is wondering if you would be buying new riding jackets in Paris or taking all your English jackets with?”

“I see,” he managed with commendable sangfroid, all the while wondering what had caught Hux’s notice. “I’ll go up now, send Mitaka to me.”

“I believe Mitaka is already in your dressing room, my lord,” Hux’s gaze was now on his face, making searching inquiry. Really, it was gross impertinence on the butler’s part. However, he thought of his mother travelling down at her butler’s behest and spoiling sport and so kept a tight rein on his temper.

He nodded dismissal and trod the stairs to his rooms in a slow, stately manner. If he did but know it, it was this mildness of temper that alerted Hux that his beloved employer’s disreputable son was up to something.

He heard Mitaka moving about in his dressing room and flung open the door to alert his long-suffering valet of his change of plan. Mitaka was carefully re-folding his coats as he entered and glanced up, an expression of horror on his face as he took in his master’s appearance.

“My lord!” was his only utterance, uttered in scandalised tones.

“Eh?” his graceless master replied.

“My lord, your neckcloth!” Mitaka was pale, as though about to swoon.

“Well, what about it man?” his usual irascible self made itself known, but he trod to a pier glass to see what all the fuss was about. Damn, his neckcloth was in total disarray, it was obvious he’d been up to something by its limp, bedraggled state. His little Rey must have twisted her fingers through it without him noticing, little tiger that she was, he thought fondly.

He maintained a casual mien. “Oh, fa la, I think I’ll just make do with a silk neckerchief during our stay here, Mitaka.”

“Oh, are we not going to Italy immediately then, my lord?”

“Italy? Oh, no. Whatever gave you that idea?”

Mitaka seemed to be struggling with some strong emotion, “I distinctly heard you, my lord, yesterday afternoon, telling me you were going to Italy for the duration and bidding me pack everything up and follow you here.”

There was a strangled edge to the words Mitaka uttered, as though he had been pushed to his limit.

“Did I? I wonder why I said that,” said Ben airily. “Oh, well, no harm done. My neckerchief if you please, Mitaka.” At that he left the dressing room to go sit at his dressing table, stripping off his ruined neckcloth.

A few minutes later Mitaka appeared with a brightly coloured silk neckerchief in his hands. Ben took it from him and tied it himself, knotting it at the base of his throat.

“What do you think, Mitaka? That’ll do, yes?”

“No, my lord, it will not do,” Mitaka turned on his heel and stalked back to the dressing room, leaving Ben to admire his buccaneer appearance and wonder what had got into his valet.

He ensconced himself in his library the rest of the day, away from inquisitive eyes who might wonder at the restless excitement he was displaying, his thoughts full of the nut sweet maid he would engage in round two with tomorrow morning.

Hux brought him the heavy purse sent by messenger by his attorney, and he carelessly bid him put it where he would. He felt the searching glance of the Butler upon him once more, and adopted an air of studied casualness to put his suspicions to rest. To Hux, this in itself was suspicious.

He drank only one glass of wine that evening, with his dinner which he ate in the library. He made a good meal and decided on an early night, replete with good food and bad intentions toward a certain dairymaid on the morrow.

Again, he heard her before he saw her, singing that she wished for her true love be brought back to her. He actually took time out from his lechery to hear her sing the whole song, so sweet and pure was her voice. Only when she began to hum and sing the song in snatches did he enter the open dairy door.

She must have memorised his step, for she turned as he walked in, casting him such a wide smile of welcome it took his breath away and he quite forgot his evil intent.

“Good morrow, sweetheart,” he greeted her, and she came so eagerly, so welcomingly into his arms it seemed that she was truly his sweetheart. Up on her tiptoes she went, arms winding around his neck, breathing his name and presenting her lips for his kisses. Something shifted inside him and he kissed her with tender enjoyment, deepening his kiss as she melted against him. It flashed through his mind that this is how you’d kiss a beloved wife.

Of course, it was too much to ask that he maintain such altruism, and he was soon thinking of touching her breasts. As they broke the kiss, he whispered to her that he’d brought her a gift.

Her eyes brightened, but a shadow passed over them as he produced from his waistcoat pocket a golden guinea. He saw it and wondered how he’d mis-stepped, just about to ask her when her saucy smile appeared and she bargained for a half guinea more.

This was familiar territory and he engaged in banter with her, determined to keep her to their bargain made the previous day and she determined that she would not.

At last she was bare before him and he marvelled at the perfection of her, so much so that she had dispensed with a bustier over her chemise.

“Is this truly all for me, sweetheart,” he spoke possessively, his voice thickened by desire.

“If you wish it, my lord,” was her breathless reply.

“As _you_ wish it, lady,” his eyes met hers and he spoke sincerely, “I want you to want me as much as I want you.”

“We’ll see,” was her neutral reply.

He was about to argue his case, hot with an irrational need for her to want him as badly as he wanted her. There was an interruption, however. She’d bid him close the dairy door and there was a sharp rap against the wood, “Rey,” a cheerful voice called out, “I’m away to breakfast, are you coming?”

“Wait up, Jessica, I’m just finishing,” and she adjusted her chemise and cap and was gone before he knew what she was about. He stared at the door, arms empty and feeling dissatisfied - not just because of the physical lack of her.

This was repeated every day that week, except for Sunday when she was at church. He suspected a plot.

He’d persuaded her to show him her legs, which she did after some negotiation, placing a foot on her milking stool and drawing up her skirts and petticoats slowly, so very slowly, to reveal a long stocking clad leg with lace garters holding her stocking up.

It seemed that there was just enough time to admire her thighs and begin to want to touch, wondering how to bargain for sight of what lay above those pale thighs, then came the rap at the door and she was gone, leaving him on his knees on the cold flags, aware of an aching need that only her presence could assuage.

He was persistent, however, and had energy for this game and a desire that needed to be fulfilled. The second week he persuaded her to come to the hayloft while the household was at luncheon.

The permanent household was small, and with the duchess not in residence the staff lingered over lunch happily gossiping as their food settled in their bellies. He brought her pastries and iced tea, and his dogs kept guard below as he raised the ladder after them to ensure privacy.

Now, undisturbed, they were able to explore one another, he taking off his jacket, waistcoat and shirt at her request and exposing his muscular, pale body to her delighted gaze. With his wild black hair, far too long now, and the bright silk scarf tied at his throat, she began to call him her gypsy.

He began to think of her as his sweetheart.

He was so absorbed by her he forgot to worry about his mother interrupting their idyll, indeed, to wonder why she had so long left him in peace. Every hour of every day his thoughts were with Rey, only in sleep was he not actively thinking of her, but then she made a start of appearing in his dreams.

They stopped bargaining in this week without realising. Instead he brought her small gifts such as her true love would - an ivory comb for her hair, silver buckles for her shoes, green ribbons to thread through her chestnut locks.

In the third week he pleasured her for the first time, showing her what agency his fingers had, and in spite of her bold and saucy ways found her to be a virgin. On the second day of the third week he showed her how to pleasure him. By the fourth week he knew he loved her and would never love another.

On the fourth day of the fourth week, he was lying on his back in the hayloft while she gently drew her fingers back and forth over his bare chest singing softly to him and made a decision.

_Thou art music of my heart;  
Heart of joy oh cush ma cree ..._

_Bheir mioh ro ho!  
Sad am I without thee ..._

Her voice sang sweet and low, filled with true feeling, he stilled her hand in its journeying.

“Rey, sweetheart.”

He had her attention.

“Rey, sweetheart,” he began again, “I love you.”

“Do you?” she replied, “that’s nice.”

He was disturbed by her lack of faith in him, stilling her hand in its perambulating and sitting up.

“Rey, I just told you I loved you.”

“Yes, my lord, I heard it.”

“No, sweetheart, I don’t think you did.”

He pulled her into his lap. “I’ve been thinking about us, what we are, what this is,” he moved his hand between them. “Rey, I’m seriously in love with you and seriously want to marry you.”

He had all her attention, then. Her eyes turned toward him, a hand clasping his cheek, her fingertips touching his ear and the curls falling over it. Searchingly she gazed at him, her eyes taking in his every feature, looking for confirmation of his words, who it truly was who declared his love for her.

“Ben,” she whispered, her face breaking into a dazzling smile, and she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his in a long, unbroken kiss.

They broke for air, and now it was his turn to smile and laugh shakily at the enormity of what they’d just done.

“I’ve sent off for a special licence,” he told her, his voice humble, “I hope you don’t mind?”

“No,” she answered softly, “I don’t mind.”

“Once I have it, we’ll be married in the chapel here and then I’ll carry you off to Italy. I’ve sent word to Southampton water where my yacht The Falcon lies. The captain is in hourly expectation of us. We need only wait then on the tide.”

“It sounds perfect.”

“It is. It will be.”

He was suddenly shy before her, “There is only one thing more, love, will you come to me this evening for supper ... and then stay? You know what I’m asking?”

She looked at him, her features soft and tender, “Yes, love, I know what you’re asking, and, yes, I’ll come.”

He crushed her to him, “You won’t regret it,” he promised, “and I’ll dedicate the rest of my life to your happiness.”

“I believe you,” she whispered softly to him.

They parted shortly after. He to order supper _a deux_ to be set up in the library, she to change her dress.


	3. Chapter 3

She came to him about 6 o’clock in the evening dressed in a cloak with a deep hood - he had warned her to guard against Hux’s prying eyes.

She had taken his word so seriously she was also masked. This caused him to laugh, until he drew her cloak from her shoulders and saw her dress. It was a most becoming shade of green with a cascade of Mechlin lace falling from her elbow to her wrist. He frowned at it, some memory stirring at the back of his mind.

“My lord, is aught wrong?”

His brow lifted, “No, not at all my love, just a sense of déjà vu when I saw your dress.”

He looked at her properly then, as she put up her hands to untie her mask. Her dress was low cut revealing a modest but alluring embonpoint. About her neck was a strand of pearls wound three time around her neck in the manner of a choker. They had the lustre of real pearls, but, of course, that was impossible.

Her glossy curls were dressed _a la grecque_ , with the green ribbons he had bought her threaded through them and banded around the smooth part above her forehead. She looked beautiful.

“What a duchess you will make,” he sighed.

This provoked a merry trill of laughter.

“Have a care, sir, I am not wishful of your mother passing so soon!”

“No, no,” he explained, much abashed, “that was not my meaning. It is only that my mother holds the duchy in her own right, but intends to pass it to me in her lifetime when I marry. She intends to become political. To run for office,” he added darkly.

He saw her eyes widen at this, “What courage your mother does possess. Why, such boldness and bravery I’ve never heard of before. Are you not proud of her?”

“Yes, but also fearful she will be ill used because of her ambition. Prime Minister Snoke has no love for my mother, she has used her influence to best him once too often.”

She was staring at him open-mouthed and he bethought himself of why he’d brought her here.

“Well, sweetheart, that is all future. When you meet my mother all will become clear, trust me. Don’t let her bully you though; getting you involved in her schemes and stratagems.”

With that he led her to table, set with a wonderful array of dishes, and poured her a glass of sparkling champagne. He expected her to be surprised by the bubbles and make many exclamations over what she was drinking, but, no, she sipped from the coupe glass as though she’d been born to drink it; commenting appreciatively on the vintage’s light mousse.

She ate well, trying every dish and asking for seconds from some as he waited on her.

He did not mean to be patronising, but he had been expecting some difficulty over use of the silverware, but, no, she was unerring in her choice of cutlery and had excellent table manners.

Had his principal interest in her not been amorous, he might have enquired as to how she’d acquired these refinements. It did briefly cross his mind that she had fooled him and was a skilled coquette who had entertained a series of lovers before him. No, he dismissed that thought, for he knew her to be a virgin and such knowledge she had of carnal matters he had taught her.

At last she was replete and he took her by the hand and led her to before the library fire, where they had dined, settling himself comfortably in a wing armchair and bidding her make use of his lap. She gracefully draped herself across that hard, muscled expanse, each thigh likely to be the span of her tiny waist, and let out a sigh of satisfaction.

Now he pouted that she hadn’t immediately set to work giving him kisses. She threw back her head laughing over his needy nature, and that proved all the provocation he needed to growlingly attack her neck with nips and kisses, her pearls proving no impediment.

Now she gave him back nip for nip, and added sucking at his bottom lip and tongue as if they were quite another organ of his body that liked such ill usage. He could no longer restrain himself, “Come to bed, sweetheart,” he growled, to which she mutely nodded consent, eyes blown with unconcealed lust and marks all over her neck and décolletage courtesy of her lover.

He stood her on her feet, his passion proving more potent than the wine she had drunk as she staggered a little requiring his steadying arm. She caught up her cloak as they exited the library, clasping it to her as he picked her up and carried her up the staircase to his room.

His bedroom door locked, and the door to his dressing room, he turned to her in silent contemplation, stripping off his coat and unbuttoning his waistcoat as she watched, her arms hanging listlessly at her sides. Her cloak had slipped from her suddenly nerveless grasp, lying in a forgotten heap at her feet.

He advanced upon her when he had got rid of these unnecessary garments and she raised her arms as he drew near in her now familiar gesture of welcome. 

He acted as her lady’s maid, silently disrobing her until her perfect self was revealed to him, a goddess bathed by Phoebe’s cool light streaming in through his window and causing her pearls to glow as if in rivalry of that effulgent light.

“Say, it,” he begged, “you have not said it, but say it now.”

She understood and raised her hands to cup his face, her thumbs softly stroking beneath the hollow of his eyes.

“I love you.”

He gathered her up and took her to bed.


	4. Chapter 4

He awoke with a start, from a dream involving a blue Domino worn over a green gown at a masked ball. He was alone in his bed.

He tsked loudly at this, did she not know that her work in the dairy was now a thing of the past? She was now his wife (almost) and it was beneath her to labour so meanly; and worked against the exalted status to which he was about to raise her.

He rolled out of bed and padded to his window, observing the dawn’s rosy fingers pushing back the grey of night.

For some reason he couldn’t help but think he’d heard the sound of a carriage. He peered as best he could out of his window, but was angled so he could not get a clear view of the avenue. Still, with what he could see, the avenue offered no glimpse of an equipage travelling down it. He wrote it off to his ears deceiving him.

He strolled back to his bed and pulled out the bottom drawer of his nightstand. There was a chamber pot stored there, and he lifted it out and relieved himself.

Well, it was too early to go track down his pea-brained love, so he climbed back into bed and dreamily relived the previous evening. She had surrendered so sweetly to him that, by Jove, he might mend his ways and stay at home more evenings and spend the night in her arms.

Didn’t the marriage vow say something about ‘keeping thyself only to thee’? He thought it did.

Yes, there was merit in that, a sweet little wife to cling onto one, making all sorts of pleasant sounds underneath one as one did a husband’s work above her on her sweet little body. He uttered a grunt of pleasure at the thought and one of his hands worked its way southwards.

He rose about an hour later, very pleased with himself and well-content. 

Whistling, he began his ablutions and had almost finished dressing when Mitaka entered his bedroom. He heard the faint tut of annoyance his valet uttered seeing his evening clothes all but trampled underfoot on his bedroom floor. He felt a twinge of guilt, soon suppressed. After all, this was what valets were for; wait until Mitaka saw the wreckage of the pristine order of the dressing room, caused whilst trying to find the clothes he was wearing.

He strolled downstairs whistling the Scottish air his true love liked to sing, quite missing the murderous look his valet cast at his retreating figure.

He headed for his library, made his home from home, and rang the bell to order breakfast. The repast of last night had been cleared away, and except for the fire not yet being set, all was in order. He picked up the mask discarded by his little love, which had been laid on his desk, and examined it - again he experienced that sense of déjà vu.

The door opened and Hux ushered in two of his minions bearing his breakfast. He cast the mask down and promptly forgot about it, succumbing to the siren call of roast beef and ham.

Replete, he set off to find his sweetheart, determined to bear her off to the hayloft. His dogs gambolled about him. My, it was a grand day!

He gave her fair warning of his coming by singing a few bars of her favourite air as he trod the passageway to the dairy, treating her to his rich baritone.

_When I’m lonely dear white heart;  
Black the night or wild the sea,  
By love’s light my foot find’s  
The old pathway to thee_

“How liked you that, my lady?” he called out cheerfully as he entered her domain.

He pulled up short, his good mood disappearing as he took in the startled gaze of an entirely new person.

“What’s this”, he growled out, “where’s Rey?”

“If it please you, your honour,” the girl was bobbing a curtsy, her voice, with its distinctive local burr, nervous and high, “Rey gave notice and left. I’ve taken her place, if it pleases your honour.”

He stared at her blankly, it must have been for a full minute, his brain working overtime to assimilate her words, until the girl got out, clearly frightened, “Should I fetch the housekeeper, your honour?”

“What! Why should you do that when I can do it myself?”

He had spoken more harshly than he intended and the girl burst into tears, pushing past him, her footsteps echoing as she ran down the stone passageway and away from him.

He must have stood another full minute struggling for clarity, his dogs’ worried whining drawing him from the maelstrom that was currently his mind. He turned, walking rapidly in the direction of his housekeeper’s office.

He burst in, the new girl being comforted in the arms of a housemaid, Maz standing before her offering comforting words. She turned with a scowl on her face as he erupted without ceremony into her office almost shouting, “Where’s Rey?”

Both girls uttered a screech and his dogs set up a barking.

“Ben Solo,” shouted Maz, her diminutive frame quivering with rage, “leave this office at once and enter it properly.”

He scowled at her and she scowled right back.

“Do I have to tell Her Grace about your execrable manners?” she threatened.

It was enough and he turned on his heel, calling his dogs after him. He knocked and Maz’s voice floated through the door with a businesslike, “Come in.”

He growled and cast a ferocious look at the door before schooling his features and entering.

“Good day, Lord Solo, how may I assist you,” Maz enquired solicitously. He ground his teeth.

“The dairymaid, Rey, where is she?”

“Why, Rey has left us, my lord. She gave notice last week and departed yesterday afternoon.” Maz was urbanity personified.

“Same question,” he gritted out, “where is she?”

Maz’s smile became a little fixed.

“I know not, my lord, she didn’t leave a direction, only that she was gone to seek her fortune. I believe she had a sweetheart whom she wished to marry.”

The room spun around him so fast that he had to put a hand on the wall nearest to support himself.

“Lord Benjamin?” Maz’s voice was now filled with concern.

“A sweetheart, you say?”

“Why, yes. She could talk of nothing else but how she loved him the moment she set eyes on him. He lives in London, I believe. That’s where she met him.”

His mouth was dry. “I see,” he said shortly, “thank you. I’ll trouble you no further.”

He turned to go.

“Lord Solo!”

He turned back. “I’ll trouble you not to frighten the maids, my lord. It’s difficult enough to get good help without you venting your spleen on them.”

He looked at her, thunderstruck, then stalked out her office and slammed the door so hard the frosted glass in it rattled and fell out, smashing on the York stone floor. He did not wait for her to scold him, but headed for his refuge, the library, his frightened dogs pressed against his heels.

He slammed that door shut too.


	5. Chapter 5

He trod from the library doors to the mantel shelf, upon which stood several Sèvres vases belonging his mother. He considered them hideous but they were her pride and joy.

He picked up the first to hand and deliberately dropped it onto the stone hearth. It smashed with a sound as loud as a gunshot. His dogs scattered and hid.

He picked up a second and it met the fate of the first.

In the middle of the mantel shelf stood and ormolu clock and to the left of this was a porcelain shepherdess made by Meissen.

This was going to go the same way as the vases, but he happened to look at the shepherdess’s face. She had chestnut hair, what could be seen of it under her straw hat, and eyes which could pass for hazel, with cherry red lips.

Of course her skin tone was wrong, being pale and not golden. Her hat had green ribbons wound around its brim, they fluttered out behind her.

He placed her back on the mantel and noticed she was peeking around the ormolu clock at something to her left, leaning on her shepherdess staff. His eyes followed hers and he noticed there was a shepherd boy peeping back at her. He looked happy to see her, and the penny whistle held in his hands indicated he had or was just about to serenade her.

He moved the shepherd to the left of the clock, beside the shepherdess. Lovers should never be parted he thought, and sighed gustily.

Pushed back against a wall of the library, in a dark corner, was an ancient leather sofa. It had been made especially for his grandfather, who had been exceptionally tall and large like him.

His mother had tried to get rid of it oft and oftener, but he had been vehement that it stayed.

For sure it was no longer pristine, successive generations of dogs’ claws had marred the leather and it sagged in places - he and his late grandfather both rode at 196 pounds - but it was a link with someone he’d loved and admired very much. He headed for it now, casting himself down upon it and covering his eyes with a forearm.

It didn’t make sense, none of it. Sure she’d taken money from him, but he still had over half the golden guineas left so not a fortune. The gifts he had given her were of good quality, but again not madly expensive, having more of a sentimental value - which ought to be true of all lovers tokens.

That left his person and his character, which must have proven to be so repulsive to her she could dissemble no longer and chose her true love over him. After all, he’d had to ask her to tell him she loved him. He felt the full force of her rejection, she had sacrificed rank and wealth, and his undying devotion, for someone with no status at all - an impecunious footman perhaps.

He may have let out a sob. His spaniels thought so, Beau repeatedly nudging the hand that hung listlessly down from the sofa, letting out soft whines. Sally was more direct, jumping on his chest making him let out an oof of protest - she was solid muscle and bone - and making him fondle her ears continuously, regarding him through anxious looking eyes.

He lay there, thinking of nothing in particular, with his dogs who were apparently the only creatures in all the world who found him tolerable.

The only sounds in the room were the tick of the clock, its chimes marking the quarters, and the sighs and huffing of his spaniels as they fretted over his obvious distress.

He missed the sound of an elegant chaise arriving, pulled by four perfectly matched chestnuts, a patina of sweat coating their gleaming coats. His dogs certainly looked to the library doors and let out a small woof, but as they did not move or bark he merely thought Hux was hovering outside. Let him enter, he thought, and this time he would black both his eyes, tale telling to his mother be damned.

The first indications he had of the unexpected visitor was the sound of bustle beyond the library doors. Hurried orders given to make welcome an unexpected, important guest. He listened intently, the two spaniels abandoning him and going to sit before the tight shut doors.

Then he heard her, “Thank you, my dear Hux. How are you keeping? No, no, there’s no luggage to speak of, just a few pieces following with my maid.”

He was off the sofa and heading for one of the library windows before she’d finished speaking, wrestling with the ancient catch and struggling to pull up the sash which some unhelpful person had painted into the frame. At last the thing gave, the paint severing from sash and window frame with a pop and a bang as the sash shot up out of control.

He was sweating, not with exertion but pure, unadulterated panic at having to face his Mama at one of the lowest points of his adult life. Heaven forbid his uncle was with her, otherwise there would be murder done this day.

He’d cast a leg over the sill, his spaniels not helping but hindering him, thinking this a new and novel game, and then had to retract it, stumbling instead back to the desk and fumbling with the key to the drawer which contained money and letters of credit to draw on French and Italian banks. He was going to ride hard for the coast and then sail to the continent and self-imposed exile.

“Sally, please,” he begged his girl spaniel, who was ecstatic at his sudden transformation from sorrow to animation, jumping on him where he crouched, trying to lick his face. He did not wish to be harsh with her, so attempted to hold her off while grabbing a heavy purse and multiple papers one-handed.

At last, he had one leg over the sill, leaning outwards as he lifted the other, when, “Benjamin! I forbid you to take one step more.”

His mother! Why was this his life?

He tried insubordination. “No, mother, I’ve places to be.”

“Benjamin,” her voice was silky and his heart sank, “do you think you can outrun my chestnuts?”

“You’re driving your chestnuts?” he asked stupidly.

“I am, and well you know it. If they don’t outrun you, they can get to where you’re going before you - Southampton water, I’m guessing, and The Falcon.”

He groaned and reluctantly, under protest, ducked back into the room.

“My darling boy,” she was all gushing affection, launching herself at him with the happy idea of embracing him. As always, she could only embrace his waist, her arms not making it much past his hips. How someone so tiny had birthed him was one of the great mysteries of the universe. He bent so that she could kiss him.

She gave a quick, shrewd glance at his ravaged face but said nothing. Seating herself in one of the wing chairs before the fireplace, she took in the shards of porcelain decorating its hearth with narrowed eyes, making no comment but indicating he take the chair opposite.

She waited until he had settled himself comfortably and then was pleased to accept a glass of port he had not offered. He trudged to the sideboard and poured two glasses, trudging back feeling her eyes constantly on him.

He decided to cut to the chase as he settled himself back down, “Mama, what are you doing here?”

She looked limpidly at him over the rim of her glass, “Why visiting my son, if you’ve no objection.”

“None, Mama, but I warn you I am leaving for Southampton and I don’t want you to try stop me.”

He went to sip his port.

“Are you, my darling? It is fortunate I brought Aurelia Kenobi with me then - your fiancée.”

He choked on his wine.


	6. Chapter 6

He was still coughing and trying to catch his breath as he observed his mother’s tripping steps toward the library doors.

“Mama,” he gasped out, “I beg you - desist!”

She paused before them and sent him the most roguish of looks over her shoulder. He groaned aloud, helpless before her machinations. She threw open the double doors, ever the dramatist, “Aurelia, darling, will you come in, please.”

A well-dressed vision entered the room, dressed in a dark blue riding skirt and white blouse with plain ruffles at the neck and sleeves. The plainness of this garment was relieved by the addition of blue velvet riband fastened around the neck and cuffs, tied in lover’s knots. An unbuttoned white riding coat, cut and embellished the same as a man’s, covered the whole.

The lady, for she was unmistakably a lady, self-evident by her deportment and the understated but expensive elegance of her clothes, which screamed Paris, wore her glossy chestnut curls cascading down her back _’a la gorgone’_. Atop these curls was perched a tricorn hat, feminised by its reduced scale in relation to a man’s hat and the addition of an ostrich feather, dyed the exact colour of her skirt, which was pinned to its brim.

He observed her being led toward him through watering eyes. She was smiling radiantly at him, showing dimples. He stared at her stupidly for she looked a lot like Rey.

His mother let go her hand and Aurelia Kenobi raised her slim arms in an all too familiar gesture, and addressed him in the clipped drawl of an English aristocrat, “Well, my gypsy, have you not got a kiss for me?”

His befogged brain prodded him to speak, “It is you!”

The trill of her laughter smote his ears, “Yes, my darling, it is I. Now, will you please kiss me!”

He lurched forward like a Labrador puppy let off the leash, enveloping her in one of his bone-crushing bear hugs and attacking her mouth with kisses. His mother, looking on with fond satisfaction, noted the increasingly heated nature of these and exited the room accompanied by the spaniels, securing the door firmly after her.

How long they stood in passionate embrace they never knew, or even cared to know, but at last they broke to find his hair quite wild where her tiny hands had gripped and carded through it, and her smart hat - sure to set a new trend - had been knocked off and trampled underfoot.

“Sweetheart,” he said, carrying her to a chair and settling her on his lap. “Sweetheart,” he said again, looking besottedly down at her.

“I suppose you require an explanation,” she began.

“Do I?” he replied, pressing another scorching kiss to her lips.

She came up breathless and somewhat dishevelled, “Well, I suppose it’s only reasonable to expect one.”

“If you say so, love.”

“Dearest, if you don’t mind an observation... “

“Not at all, speak as you wish.”

“Well, I think you need to start thinking with your noggin,” she tapped an elegant finger tenderly against his head, “rather than exclusively with Kylo.”

“Kylo?” he asked, mystified.

A slight blush stained her cheeks.

“Well, that’s what I’ve named you know who,” she was coy in her look, “after all, he is a bit of a beast. Although he churned my butter wonderfully last night,” she added as an afterthought.

He bestowed another scorching kiss after she uttered this _bon mot_.

She was a little breathless after that one too.

“Well, my darling, after I’d kissed you at the masked ball... “

“That was you?” Light dawned, evident in his face. “Oh, of course, the green gown, the mask, and the blue Domino! I wondered why they seemed familiar.”

She looked at him with fond exasperation, “My darling, I’m not even going to try to understand that remark. As I was saying, after I’d kissed you at the ball and then run away - by the way I think your uncle odious.”

“As do I,” he interrupted.

“Do you? Well that’s convenient, for I think we should see him only when it’s otherwise unavoidable. Mama duchess, is, of course, welcome at any time.”

He chose not to endorse that open invitation to his mother.

“Well, after I’d kissed you and run away after your odious uncle’s most insulting remark - by the way, my darling, you were positively chivalric in your defence of me,” she paused here to press a scorching kiss of her own to his lips.

She resumed her narrative, “Well, after I’d run away, quite mortified, I assure you, for kissing you was the most natural and wonderful thing I’d ever done, and your uncle’s remark made it seem so cheap and tawdry, made _me_ feel cheap and tawdry... “ 

She paused, clearly upset, and he growled and held her close.

She pulled out her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes; she had his full attention.

“Well, after I’d left the ball and had my cry, I then realised, ninny-hammer that I am, that in the throes of supreme ecstasy - yes, mister, I’m speaking of your kisses,” she poked him playfully in the chest, “don’t look so smug - we had forgotten to exchange names.”

She sobered a little, “Much to my surprise, finding out your name was the easiest thing in all the world, but, darling, learning of your reputation came as something of a shock. I took a whole day wondering if pursuing you was the right thing to do.”

She began to play with one of the buttons on his jacket, “Darling, I don’t mean to be a nag or a bore, really I don’t, but you’re going to have to stop rogering women right, left and centre, really you are. Not that I want to spoil your fun, but, you see, I’m going to be horribly jealous and possessive of you, I just know it, and if I find you’ve been flirting with a Covent Garden actress or an opera singer, or worse! Well, it will all end badly.”

She looked at him through her lashes, gauging his response.

His jaw was working in a manner she was to learn was peculiar to him. When he spoke, it was with sincerity and deep feeling, “Sweetheart, these last few hours have shown me how very necessary you are to my happiness and I can assure you, I will do nothing to jeopardise our love. When I thought I’d lost you... “

He stopped speaking, overcome, his eyes moistening.

She snuggled against him, “I’m so very glad to hear that, for I’m a wonderful shot, you know. Really, I couldn’t miss if I tried; and I own this simply marvellous pair of duelling pistols which are just crying out to be used... “

He stopped her speaking the best way he knew how, by tender, sustained kissing.

Diverted, she picked up the narrative once more.

“So I searched high and low, but it seemed as if you’d gone to ground. Then my dresser, Kaydel, who let me tell you is the cleverest creature in all the world, learned that you hated such gatherings unless ordered to go by your Mama. So we put our thinking caps on and decided I should pay a morning visit to your Mama and give her the simply splendid news that I was willing to take you on in marriage.”

She gave another trill of laughter, throwing back her head and exposing a sliver of her neck, embellished with one of his marks, and wriggling madly - much to his delight and consternation as his mother was on the other side of the library doors and he couldn’t afford _Kylo_ to raise his insistent head.

He called her to order, pleadingly, and she quietened.

“Darling, it was the drollest thing, for even though I’d sent up my card, can you believe, she thought I was one of your _amoureuse_ come to blackmail her over some scandal you’d caused?”

She let go another peal of laughter and he cringed, imagining the scene. Yes, it was time to reform his wicked ways.

“Well, after we discovered we were talking at cross purposes, how we did laugh after!, your Mama practically fell on my neck with happiness, for she wants grandchildren very badly and had _almost_ given up hope.”

She frowned, “Dearest, imagine how cast down we all were when you refused to even listen to my offer. So we three, for Kaydel is deep in my confidence, put our heads together and your Mama remarked that you had _an inherent pre-disposition_ to fall in love with females of easy virtue. Oh, the possibilities that remark offered, for I knew that you very much liked kissing me and had practically worshipped my breasts, _and_ had tried several times already to put your hand upon my thigh.”

She looked at him triumphantly and he felt his ears burn with mortification, the events that took place in that small antechamber now fully recalled. He had not been a gentleman. Did his mother know?

“Darling,” she was prodding him out of his reverie, “don’t you think we were very clever in our scheme?”

What did he think? He thought his mother ruthless in achieving her ends. He thought his intended a delightful innocent he must stand guard over. He thought he must get her to the altar as soon as that damned special licence arrived. He must ensure his mother didn’t come with them on honeymoon.

He had lots of thoughts, but asked instead, “Why did you leave?”

“Well, my gypsy, although you gave my body a flattering amount of attention, it seemed to me I had not engaged your heart.” Her look was serious now, “So we decided I should give notice and resume my true persona and try to win you as Aurelia Kenobi, but then, at the eleventh hour, you, my absolute angel, confessed what I’d oft longed to hear - you loved me and wished to marry me.”

She tenderly stroked his face and carded through his hair, a blissful expression on her face, “And so I allowed myself a weak moment, and then picked up the thread of our adapted plan - Kaydel waited for me in your Mama’s carriage and whisked me away so I could reveal myself to you today.”

She pressed a loving kiss against his lips and asked, “What say you, love?”

He ruminated for a while, “I say, you are an incorrigible minx, and I’d better keep my eye on you. I also say, Aurelia Kenobi, I worship and adore you. I love you. Will you marry me and be mine for ever more?”


	7. Epilogue

Of course she said yes, her answer ending in a breathless squeak as he pulled her against him for another kiss. His mother then revealed herself to be an inveterate listener at keyholes, bursting in accompanied by her dear friend Lady Holdo, whose nearby manor had constituted the centre of operations, gushing her happiness and making honeymoon plans.

Shortly after a travelling coach arrived, groaning with the quantity of luggage packed into it and onto it. A pretty, diminutive blonde in a red tobine striped satin gown embellished at her décolletage and elbows with patterned muslin lace alighted, a straw chip hat with red satin ribbons completing the charmingly pastoral look.

Looks can be deceiving, however, and Ben, well acquainted with the female sex, noted a roguish look in her dark eyes, and well understood the significance of the heart shaped patch which she wore at the corner of her mouth (known as the kissing), and her pretty red lips were surely enhanced by a skilfully applied lick of _rouge_. 

Trouble, he knew it.

He was not wrong. Within the week, the male servants were at daggers drawn over her, as they each competed for her favour. The deadliest rivalry was between Mitaka and Hux, whose devotion she exploited shamelessly.

He was austere in his dealings with her, much to his mother’s amusement. That irreverent lady proceeded to stifle her laughter by stuffing her handkerchief into her mouth at the sight of the unbending morality exhibited by her former rakehell son - now poacher turned gamekeeper it seemed.

Kay was devoted to her mistress, however, and delivered her to him nightly under the noses of his mother, his mother’s bosom friend, and General Kenobi, his affianced bride’s pugnacious grandfather, with none of them the wiser.

General Kenobi had arrived the day after the marriage proposal was made and accepted, the same day as the special licence arrived, bringing with him his attorney at law and a humble clerk and wanting to negotiate the marriage contract, refusing to allow his grand-daughter to marry until this was signed and sealed.

The licence had only seven days to run and Ben’s nerves were run ragged by the delays. Had it not been for Rey lying in his arms nightly, he would have murdered the whole household and run off with her.

Finally, all was agreed, and he and his bride emerged from the village church to cheers and shouted well wishes from villagers and estate workers alike.

During the wait, his future bride’s prowess with a pistol had been proven.

One dark, dank day, the only distraction being to marvel at how heavy the rain was now falling, a chance remark led to the family party assembling in the long picture gallery, where his beloved proceeded to casually shoot the pips out of a playing card at a range of 32 ft in poor light. The four of hearts to be precise.

Kaydel brought the long wooden case to the gallery containing the two duelling pistols, long muzzled and possessed of a deadly beauty, she acting as loader.

The percussion from the four shots reverberated throughout the house - Rey and Kaydel had put wax ear plugs in, the rest of the party covered their ears with their hands - and his dogs ran forward thinking to retrieve game.

He was called over to personally inspect how cleanly the four hearts were blown through, to marvel at Rey’s marksmanship as Amilyn, his mother, and Rey’s proud grandfather were doing, and discovered his hands had instinctively cupped themselves protectively over his genitals.

_Kylo_ , he could attest, had shrunk from his customary resting length of six inches to something more resembling a walnut, put on notice his philandering days were over.

Conveying his bride, his mother, Amilyn and the General, attendants, and several mountains of luggage to Paris for his honeymoon proved to be the least of his trials.

It turned out his bride, when Miss Kenobi, had enjoyed a successful season in that gay city, and the knocker on the door of the _hotel_ he had hired was subsequently never still.

He was for ever pulling some charmer to his feet by his shirt collar, where he was knelt at his wife’s feet spouting turgid poetry at her, daring to clasp her hands in his, the dog!, and kicking him out the house.

Or being alert to prevent the stealing of a flower from her corsage at a ball, so that it may be worn against some lovesick fellow’s heart. Ha! he knew their game, they sought to make a cuckold of him with his innocent.

His mother and Amilyn were no better, reviving flirtations begun some forty odd years ago when they had been the toasts of Paris, with elderly, creaky French Casanova’s. 

Really, if he saw his mother tap the encroaching hand of one of those fellow’s with her fan again, simpering like a schoolgirl all the while, well, he would not be responsible for his actions. She’d gotten into this habit too of unfurling it, and spending minutes together behind it with the face of one of her erstwhile lovers pressed close to hers. It was disgusting. _At her age!_

He had remonstrated, eyes fixed warily on the long, ivory sticks of her furled fan. She was not above rapping it painfully against his nose, as his poor nose could well attest, if she thought him impertinent. It was to no avail, she unfurled her fan and peeped over it at him, eyes alight with mischief. He stalked out, going to seek comfort of his wife.

At last, his poor, shredded nerves could take it no longer, he eschewed the wearing of the fashionable light dress sword and fastened a rapier to his hip - a man’s weapon. Let Johnny Frenchman try to make free with his wife’s hands and steal her flowers now, if he dare, and he would know how to act!

Rey, seeing he was tested beyond endurance, ordered the porter to deny all visitors, waited only for the delivery of three ravishing gowns from her Parisian dressmaker, and then begged her husband to take her away from this tedious place. He obeyed with alacrity, and soon they were sailing toward Italy, spending long afternoons in their stateroom locked in each other’s arms.

His equilibrium had been restored by the time they reached Rome, and for a while, as they trod in its ancient ways, they kept to themselves the knowledge of their coming child. He ensconced her in a villa in the hills above the Eternal City to wait out the worst of her symptoms before heading home. When then they told Leia, she cried with happiness, hugged them convulsively, and then cried some more.

Amilyn and the General surprised everyone by announcing their betrothal, marrying at the English Embassy in Rome before setting off for Venice on honeymoon. He was not sorry to see them go and gathered up his household and began the journey home, promising a trip to Florence and Venice after the birth of their child.

Anakin Skywalker-Solo came into the world five months later, Leia placing his son in his arms, a small red-faced bundle already showing black tufts of hair. He examined his son’s ears and nose anxiously and found them perfect. He welcomed his twin daughters two years later and any last vestiges of regret at tying himself down were done away with - he was a proud husband and father. He was _Papa._

There was only one blot on his horizon, his mother’s protégé Poe Dameron, his mother determining her influence was best exercised behind the scenes through patronage of the up-and-coming young thruster, Dameron.

He alienated him straight away, by kissing Rey’s hands in a most possessive manner upon introduction, his lips lingering over her fingers, he saw. The scoundrel then sat beside her an entire evening, making her throw her head back with laughter, quite captivating her with his broad, perfect, white toothed smile.

He heard with his own ears the bounder actually petition her to join him and her _belle-mere_ on the hustings, and trade kisses for votes. Ha! as if that would ever happen. He caught his wife’s eye in a meaningful way.

Marriage had taught him subtlety, somewhat, and he hid his visceral dislike of the scoundrel, who he found in his home more often than he liked. Rather he took his seat in the Lords and formed a resistance party; spiking the blackguard’s guns every chance he got as his bills were passed to the house for second readings.

He couldn’t truthfully say that marriage was what he’d wanted, but marriage to Rey - that was everything he ever could have asked for and more. And the blessings his children brought were innumerable.

All in all, he was well satisfied, and glad he paid a golden guinea to a dairymaid that day to see a pair of pretty duckies.


End file.
